


see you around

by toast (aone)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, M/M, op knows nothing about art and says sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 01:05:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14153328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aone/pseuds/toast
Summary: herollssweeps into your life like aglass jarbreath of fresh air





	see you around

**Author's Note:**

> i rate my fics teen and up if they at least have one (1) swear and i think that's overkill but hey it's cool
> 
> enjoy

there’s a muttered curse and the sound of something hitting the floor and you turn a little, hooking your foot around a leg of your stool to keep balance. you see a jar rolling across the overlapping mats, staining the fabric not with paint but with water. you cheer with silent relief.

you’re off your chair and on your knees before you can think about it, scooping up the jar before it can go any further. it’s empty. you look up at its owner and smile before going to the sink, filling it up nearly three-fourths and head back.

“oh, you didn’t have to... but thank you,” he says, voice soft but deep and you’re struck by how pleasant it sounds. you don’t think you’ve heard him speak once after the icebreaker introductions on the first day of class.

placing the jar on the step stool beside him, you nod. “it’s nothing. your name is jaehyun, right?”

your eyes are drawn to the corner of his lip that quirks, a hint of a smile, and there’s an indent in his cheek that has you wondering if there’s a matching one on the other side. you focus on his eyes. they glow in the mid-morning light that filters through the curtains.

“right.”

a throat clears and you lock with an expectant look across the room, murmuring an apology as you slip back into your seat ( _sorry instructor_ ) and in the edge of your vision, barely out of your blind spot’s reach, is a head of messy brown hair and a stool topped with tubes of oil paint that cost more than all of the bills in your wallet. your mind wanders as you stroke pink into the ocean sky on your canvas, leaving wisps of lavender in the wake of your bristles.

_he’s beautiful._  


—

  
the campus grounds are always lightly populated on early thursday evenings.

you’ve never questioned it, it’s one of those things that you find strange or odd at first but brush off after a couple thursdays walking through the open courtyard and down the tree-lined paths, coming across a maximum of three or maybe four people each time. it’s serene, and you tend to slow your steps on your way back to your dorm to admire the peach tones the sunset casts over everything.

the fountain is especially ethereal at this hour, its water dyed a wonderful violet until the sun dips below the horizon and the moon colors it an opalescent not-white.

your feet lead you to the square and that’s where you see him.

_huh._

he’s lying on an orange gingham blanket, flat on his stomach with an open sketchbook in front him and the scene brings forth a memory of yourself, seven years old with a short stack of copy paper and an old box of crayons. his shoes are amazingly white and miss the blanket, toes crushing the grass beneath them. you hope they don’t stain.

there’s a buzz in your pocket and you take your phone out. roommate’s gonna be out for a few days, visiting family.

you pocket the device and allow him one last glance, feet already shuffling and your eyes catch on lines of twisting ink on the inside of a wrist. you’re too far to discern the image it makes and so you tuck the piece of information into a dusty shelf in the back of your mind. maybe you’ll come back to it. maybe.

the sun’s set by the time you’re flicking the lights off, tumbling into bed with dreams of emerald thread and ink flowers.  


—

  
_“twenty-seven cents will be your change and your drink will be ready in just a few minutes. have a nice day!”_

"you too," you say under your breath and move to stand by the pick-up counter, the sound of blenders mixed with the idle chatter of customers serving as the background track to the quiet symphony coming from your earbuds. you tap your fingers to a personal beat, tapping your foot occasionally as if hitting a kick drum.

“ah, it’s good to see you, jaehyun!”

you cock your head, unsure if you heard it right because _what a coincidence if you are right—_

“you saw me here two weeks ago and you see me on campus, taeil-hyung.”

your drink isn’t ready yet so you purse your lips, unsure if the light fluttering in your stomach is because you’re eavesdropping (unwillingly) or because your anxiety is acting up again. a mixture of both, most likely.

“i know but it’s always a pleasure to see you!” taeil tucks all of the baked goods into a foldable box, pushing it over as jaehyun swipes his card. “how’s your painting doing? coming out well, i hope?”

“it’s... going.”

you’re pulled back into your reality when the barista calls your name and you swivel your head around before they notice you’ve been staring. you smile your thanks and grab a straw and napkins as you pull the drink closer.

“sicheng! i’m going on my break!”

someone makes noise in the kitchen. _“about time!”_

“take over for me?”

you shake your drink and stick the straw in, taking a sip as you step back, pivoting.

_“yes, yes, now go!”_

you startle as you nearly collide with a clutched box of fresh bread and meet his eyes, wide and brown like a deer in the headlights. it’s a full four seconds before you smile and whisper _hello_ like is this really only the second time you’ve ever seen—noticed?—him outside of class?

he returns your greeting with a hey and a grin and half-moon eyes and you realize that yeah,

_he has two dimples._

“jaehyun, i’m free for twenty minutes, let’s go to the park down the street and catch up!”

you slip away as taeil bounds toward the two of you and your fingers itch to trace a cherub’s bow, framed by two crescents.

you have a spare sketchbook lying around somewhere.  


—

  
“i feel like we’ve been seeing each other everywhere.”

he finds you first this time, nose buried in a textbook curled up in one of the library’s many alcoves with an open journal and an uncapped highlighter drying away on top of it. he sets his things down slowly on the table in front of you as if asking for permission and you nod, gesturing towards the empty seat.

“the best chairs are always in the back, perfect for long study sessions that... almost always end in you drooling onto your work.”

he chuckles and takes out a few notebooks, a textbook of his own, and a denim pencil pouch. there’s a little dog plush keychain attached to the zipper. _cute,_ you mouth.

“you sound like you’re talking from experience.”

he’s talking about the drool. you look back up at him and there’s a knowing tilt to his lips.

“that’s because i am.”

it’s after two hours of review, two hours of the infrequent scratching of pen point on lined paper and rustling as you turn from page 37 to 62 with the grumbles that come with mistakes—

_(“hey, do you have whiteout?”_

_“i might... need it?”_

_“yes, please.”_

_your fingertips brush.)_

—when you slump back and press your palms to your closed eyes. he’s long since given up on taking notes from eighty pages of art history with its passively pompous wording and sits twirling a blue gel pen. you tap your marker on the table to get his attention. he looks at you with drooping eyelids.

“i think we should call it a day.”

he points out the window and you follow his pinky finger. the sky’s beginning to darken.

“let’s call it a night then,” you say, amused. how’d you manage to lose track of time for so long?

you pack up your things in relative silence, comfortable and slow like the atmosphere that surrounds the bubble you’ve made for yourselves. you sling your backpack over your shoulder and grab your phone and charger.

“see you tomorrow in class?” he rubs his nose, covering his mouth.

“see you.”  


—

  
_ah shit._

there’s a clatter as your palette slips out of your grip. it rattles against the floor and you grimace as it comes to a stop, upside down and no doubt coloring the floor in various shades of green. you didn’t lay out any mats today.

“let me help.”

a pair of hands join you in wiping the paint off the floor and you can see the ink clearly now. a single carnation runs along a prominent vein, its stem disappearing into a baby blue sleeve and you wonder if it ends there or expands into something more intricate.

“you don’t have to, but thank you.”

he smiles, wipes up the last of the paint, foliage green, and plucks the rag from your hands to throw into the bin.

“i know, but you’re welcome.”  


—

  
he’s flitting through a brochure and you’re still not sure how he managed to get you to agree to go to the city’s botanical garden with him, but you aren’t complaining. the sunlight dripping through the ceiling bathes everything in a pale yellow and you will yourself to absorb the scene so you can paint it later.

“forget this,” he says and you turn to him as he shoves the paper into a pocket, crumpling it in the process. he meets your eye with a twinkle in his. “let’s explore on our own. i don’t think this place is big enough for us to get lost in. we’re adults.”

he learns that eating his words isn’t a good experience, it’s a fantastic experience.

the two of you are a little lost in the butterfly fields—the grass is a little too high and the blades tickle your ankles—but you’re laughing and playing tag among the flowers so the brochure stays forgotten in his pocket.

his fingers wrap around your wrist and you tug without any real intent, content with giggling into each other’s space, trading wordless secrets, sharing moments after moments of fragility. you tilt your head back a bit and stare at him, just under his eyes.

“you’re not what i expected, jaehyun.”

he lights up and his thumb ghosts over your knuckles. the touch whispers about the opportunity for more and your hand pushes against it, eager as if testing a barrier.

“what did you expect of me, then?”

you think about it.

“i don’t know but... it wasn’t this.”

“are you disappointed?”

you slide your hand into his, squeezing for emphasis.

“no. not at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> jaehyun is six feet tall but he is the softest boy and he loves bread and i hope he knows that i love hi


End file.
